


Rise of the Steampunk Mutant Ninja Turtles

by Bog_Wizard



Category: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Happy Ending, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, a good amount of angst, but also plenty of fluff, people who should not be parents are parents, the boys are split up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:15:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23353051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bog_Wizard/pseuds/Bog_Wizard
Summary: In an alternate Steampunk universe, the bothers were separated as boys, and grew up in very different worlds. They are brought back together by one spunky reporter (April O'Neil) and work together to discover (and stop) the plans of the Foot Clan.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 27





	Rise of the Steampunk Mutant Ninja Turtles

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, y'all! If interested in this au and the other versions of it, please check out [our steampunk turtles blog!](https://teetlez-steampunk-au.tumblr.com/) Though this specific au is my version, a lot of the ideas for it were brainstormed as a group, so don't be surprised if some elements are similar to other steampunk au stories that may be popping up in the near future!! Hope you enjoy reading!

Our scene opens in a small cafe, the air filled with the sort of soft hum you get when a crowd of people is talking quietly, multiple conversations overlapping each other. Outside, the setting sun did little to ward off the November chill, but within, the air was warm. Electric lighting was still a relatively new trend, and one that the small shop hadn’t caught on to yet. 

As a result, the atmosphere inside was dim and slightly smoky, the eclectic collection of gas lamps and candles that illuminated the small space mirroring the shop’s patrons almost comically. They were of all shapes and sizes, from the largest yokai able to fit through the door, to humans of all shapes and sizes, to yokai so small that anyone walking through had to watch their step. 

We are going to ignore most of them, for now. The focus of our current story is located in a back corner of the room, seated at a small table. A pair of cups occupied most of the surface area of the tiny table, steam spiraling up lazily from the coffee within. 

The cups rattled and jumped as a hand was smacked down next to them emphatically. “Listen, I know they’re up to something, more than what news has been willing to report on!” 

April O’Neil, go-getter, aspiring reporter, and all-around thrill—seeker. She’d landed the opportunity of a lifetime several months ago, interning for the New York Times, and she was determined to make the most of it, and hopefully a name for herself in the process. 

“I believe you! It isn’t me you have to convince - it’s your boss. Once you’ve got him on your side, everyone else will be a piece of cake.”

The other occupant of the table was one Sunita McJiggle; one of April’s best friends, and a yokai, though you couldn’t tell the latter by looking at her. Her father had made his fortune in (of all things) party entertainment. Her family’s unconventional rise in status had made her a bit of an outcast in most social circles (not that she much minded,) but it also allowed her easy access to a cloaking brooch, proudly pinned to her shawl. 

“Speaking of your boss, the great Warren Stone, how is working for him? Is it everything you’d hoped it would be?” 

“He thinks chasing the Foot Clan is a total waste of time, but he didn’t explicitly say that I couldn’t do it,” April said, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “I’m going to prove him – and the rest of this city – wrong. Those flame-heads aren’t petty criminals any more than I’m a pizza pigeon.” 

She stood up, draining the rest of her coffee in one go. The pair carried their cups back up to the counter, waving a quick goodbye to the barista behind it. The bell on the café door tinkled as it shut behind them, the cheerful sound a sharp contrast to the chill air and dreary skies outside. 

Standing on the steps, Sunita opened her umbrella against the slight drizzle. April squinted up at the sky briefly, raindrops speckling the lenses of her glasses as she regretted her decision to skip carrying an umbrella of her own that morning. 

“Be careful on your way home,” she said as she turned back to Sunita, “The Butcher is still on the loose.”

“I will! And, you, too. Don’t go doing anything crazy,” she said with a pointed look. 

“Aww, come on, Sunita, you know I would _never_!” Sunita rolled her eyes, not believing it for a second. April hadn’t gotten her job as an investigative reporter by sitting on the sidelines and staying out of trouble. 

The two embraced tightly before April hopped down off of the stoop, waving as she walked away. She headed down the street, head bent down against the misty wind blowing in off of the harbor. 

“Hey!” Sunita called after her once more, “Don’t forget! Lou Jitsu tomorrow night!” 

“ _Hooot Soup_!” April called back, throwing one fist up in the air. She turned the motion into one final wave, then was off again, making her way into the growing darkness. 

The dreary weather had done little to calm the city’s constant hustle and bustle; April dodged out of the way of several careless umbrella-wielders, trying to avoid losing an eye. She stuck close to the walls of the buildings lining the street, taking advantage of any overhangs as she attempted to stay dry. 

A large bulletin fluttered in the chill wind, catching her attention. “BEWARE THE BUTCHER,” it read in bold red letters. The posters were all over the city, warning residents away from the streets at night, lest the infamous murderer happened to be on the prowl. There was no picture; no one had seen the Butcher in the flesh – at least, no one who had lived to tell the tale. 

So distracted was she by the page that she nearly walked into a woman, stopped in front of her. She caught herself just in time, dancing out of the way and almost running into a different bystander as she did so. 

Gathering herself, she stopped to see what the commotion was. A crowd of people blocked the sidewalks in front of her, pooling out into the street slightly. Curiously, she skirted the edge of the group, pressing herself up to the side of a building and craning her neck to try and see around them. 

A young turtle in a heavily-patched suit held the crowd’s attention. By the looks of it, he was a street performer. A blue mask hid a portion of his face, though he would still be easily recognizable by the red stripes it did not cover, in sharp contrast with his green skin. He was performing various tricks, juggling, handstands, backflips, combinations of all three. If the laughter that rippled through the crowd was any indication, he was telling jokes as well, though she was too far away to hear. . 

She watched the performer’s routine for a few moments more, until a bright flash of color by the street caught her attention. One of the many mobile food carts that prowled the city streets had maneuvered it’s way over to the crowd, its spindly legs stepping it up onto the sidewalk before settling it gently to the ground. It was the cart’s large red umbrella that had caught her eye. 

She turned back to the turtle, intending to watch for a few moments more before continuing on her way. His routine was nothing April hadn’t seen before, but it was still impressive. As she turned, her hand dropped instinctively to her belt as she double-checked that her camera (a gift, and one of her most prized possessions) was still clipped securely to her belt.

One of the first rules of city living is to always watch your pockets, especially when in a large crowd. Usually, April O’Neil was quite good at this endeavor. It was unfortunate for her that, on one of the few days when it was necessary, she let her attention lapse. Well, unfortunate for her, perhaps. Without this mishap, dear reader, there wouldn’t have been much of a story here for us to enjoy. 

As you may have inferred, she did not find her camera at her belt – well, not quite. What she _did_ find was a hand, wrapped quite firmly around it. The hand jerked away as she turned around, taking her camera with it.

“Hey!! Thief!!!” She shouted, breaking into a sprint after the small figure that was currently occupied with making off with her precious camera. 

From what she could make out in the dim light, it looked to be another turtle. Breathing hard, she spit out a curse. “ _Stupid, stupid, stupid,_ ” she panted out under her breath, swerving around a corner, scanning desperately for bright orange of his tattered mask. 

She caught sight of him again for a brief second as he turned another corner, into the small alleyway between two buildings. She nearly missed the entrance, practically falling to the ground as her momentum carried her too far. She pushed herself back to her feet, slowing herself as she crept into the darkened alley after him. 

The turtle, having assumed that he had lost her, had tucked himself into the corner of a large crate and the wall it rested against, and was busy examining his prize. He turned it over in his hands, trying to gauge how much it might be worth. 

A word or two of advice, perhaps: firstly, if running from a foe of any sort, it is always a good idea to double check that you have indeed lost them before you stop running. Secondly, If you don’t steal things from people, the chances of you needing to take the first piece of advice will be much slimmer. 

“I will take _that_ ,” came a triumphant, though slightly winded, voice, just before the camera was snatched out of the young thief’s hands. 

“Hey!” Reflexively, he reached out for the camera, as though it had belonged to the turtle to begin with. 

April smacked the offending hand away before stepping back and holding the camera out of arm's reach, saying, “Don’t you ‘Hey’ me! This is –“ 

“Get away from my brother.” The blue-masked turtle from the street corner dropped down from a nearby fire escape, fists up. Eyes narrowing into a glare, he moved to stand between April and the thief. 

Unfazed, April clipped the camera back onto it’s holder on her belt. “I wouldn’t have needed to be near him in the first place if he had just kept his hands to himself.” 

“Maybe you should find a safer place to keep it,” the smaller turtle suggested helpfully. Though his words suggested an attitude, his demeanor implied a genuine desire to help. 

“Mikey!” the other hissed angrily. “Well! Now that that’s all sorted out, we should really be going.” With a small bow and a nervous grin, he grabbed onto his brother’s arm and started to drag him back towards the mouth of the alley. 

“Hey!” April shouted after them, jogging a quick step or two to try to catch up. She wasn’t sure what, exactly, if anything, she would have done if she _had_ caught up with them – it wasn’t as if there was anyone else around.

She didn’t get the chance to figure it out. A flickering orange glow suddenly chased away the darkness at the alley’s mouth, almost like fire. With a flash of recognition and a quiet gasp, April lunged forwards, catching hold of the arms of the two boys in front of her and jerking them back into the darkness and behind a pile of crates. 

The blue one tried to protest, but she slapped a hand over his mouth, quieting him as she peered cautiously over the top of the crates. The flickering glow grew brighter as the source neared the entrance to the alleyway, before coming to a stop directly in front of it. The turtle slapped her hand away, and she let go of him, not looking away from the mouth of the alley.

A pair of men stood there, mechanics, by the looks of them. One was tall and thickly built, the other shorter and wiry, though April had no doubt that he was not lacking in strength. They both wore belts heavily laden with wrenches and other tools, and heavy, practical boots. If April didn’t know any better, she would have thought they were just a pair of laborers, on their way home from a busy day at the docks. 

The fluttering orange flames that hovered over their foreheads told another story, however. As the shorter man turned to face his companion, the light illuminated the foot-shaped gas mask that covered most of his face, confirming April’s suspicions. 

“Foot faces!” April hissed under her breath, dropping back down to crouch behind the pile of boxes. “I know those two – the supposed leaders of the Foot Clan.”

The older turtle scoffed. “What, you’re afraid of those two-bit criminals? Seriously? Come on, Mikey, Let’s go.” 

“But what if they get angry we saw them?” Mikey (for that was the orange-clad turtle’s name) said worriedly. 

“We’ll climb back up the fire escape. Come on, let’s go.” He stood from his crouching position, his foot nudging an empty can as he did. It rolled across the cobblestones, clanging loudly in the near-silence of the dark night. 

“What was that?” A raspy voice echoed down the alley. April and Mikey each grabbed an arm, yanking the other turtle back down. 

April grabbed onto the front of his jacket, pulling him close as she hissed, “You are _not_ going to ruin this for me. I’ve been after these two for _too long_.” With one last, pointed glare, she let him go, turning around and peering through a crack between two of the crates. 

“Should we check it out?” A second voice asked. 

Much to April’s relief, the pair never got the chance to decide. A second pair of footsteps approached, drawing the attention of the two men before stopping just out of sight. 

Without preamble, a new voice stated, “Here is the agent.” His accent was thick and foreign, the deep tone carrying easily down the alley. 

“Dispose of it however you please,” said the second hidden man. A cage was thrust unceremoniously into the hands of the larger foot-face, the faint purple glow it emitted contrasting starkly with his own orange light. The unseen men retreated without farewell, heavy footsteps fading into the night, and the Foot followed suit, heading in the opposite direction. 

“What is _that_?” Mikey breathed, poking his head over the top of the crates to see. 

“It looks like some kind of….dog...thingy?” Squinting through the darkness, April struggled to make out the features of the strange blue-and-orange creature before the men carried it's cage too far out of sight. 

Mikey looked over at her, any animosity over the camera-snatching forgotten. “They said they were going to dispose of it!” He whispered worriedly. 

April smacked her fist into her palm and stood up. “We can’t let them hurt that dog thingy!” She waved to the turtles before creeping back towards the street. “Come on!” 

“Wait, who’s we?” The blue-clad turtle’s protests were completely ignored as April and his brother slipped around the corner of the building, following the Foot. 

“Oh, but they might be angry if they see us!” He mimicked frustratedly, throwing his hands up in the air. No one remained to hear his complaints, so he let out a quiet huff and followed behind the others. 

When trailing a potential enemy, it is always a good idea to be ready for anything. It is advisable to stay a fair distance back from your quarry, and to stick to the shadows whenever possible. It is also, of course, important to not overdo it, lest you look suspicious to any bystanders around. Our trio put these practices into play quite nicely, trailing the two men and their glowing cage. 

They almost need not have bothered. The pair was obviously very confident – though whether it was in their reputation keeping them from being followed, or in the late hour and poor weather keeping the streets clear, it was hard to tell – for they didn’t turn around once. 

After what felt like an eternity (but was, in actuality, only a few blocks) the men stopped in front of the side door of a warehouse, looking around furtively before knocking on the door.

Two short knocks, two long, and finished with a final short knock, and the door swung open, spilling a bright fluorescent glow across the cobblestones. The two stepped quickly inside, and the door slammed shut with a loud _clang_ , the bright light disappearing, and taking everyone’s night vision with it. 

“Now what?” Mikey asked, peering around the dark street in front of the warehouse. Streetlights in this area were few and far between, and those that did exist were still gas powered, their unsteady flickering providing a feeble light against the pressing darkness. 

April didn’t answer right away, trying to pick out any other details about the massive warehouse in front of them. 

“We could use the fire escape up to the roof,” the blue-clad turtle said, pointing out the faint outline of a metal staircase stretching up the side of the building. 

“Good Idea, Leo!” Mikey said, leading the way as the three of them darted across the street, abandoning the shadows for a moment as they crossed briefly through the circle of light cast by a streetlamp. 

In the interest of stealth, they didn’t bother to try to unhook and lower the ladder – Leo gave April, then Mikey a boost up so they could pull themselves directly onto the fire escape’s fist landing, and they returned the favor, pulling them up behind them. 

“My name is April, by the way,” April stated as they crouched on the platform, gathering themselves. It was as good a time as any to introduce herself, she supposed – they were certainly in the thick of it now. 

“Leo.”

“I’m Mikey! Sorry about the camera.” 

“It’s all right,” April said, mounting the stairs, “Chasing you may have just given me my first big break on this case I’m working on, so I’ll call us even.”

Their gloves did little to keep the metal railings from draining the warmth from their fingers as they clung desperately to the narrow rods, trying to ignore the ominous creaking of the fire escape. Despite their best efforts, not a single step was silent, their weight drawing cringe-worthy shrieks from the rusted metal stairs. The platforms between staircases were alarmingly narrow, leading to a tight squeeze between the metal railings and the brick walls beside them. April mourned briefly for her dress, and the beating it was surely taking. 

Stepping onto the rooftop, flat and solid, was a welcome relief. The three took a brief moment to scan the roof, catching their breath while they searched for any signs of life. 

Skylights jutted up from the center of the roof in an A-shaped formation, the light spilling from them illuminating the puddles of water that outlined the dips in the roof’s surface. The area was decidedly deserted, an oversight on the Foot’s part. 

One would think that the Foot Clan’s secret base would have been better guarded. Though, judging by how careless they had been in their meeting, and walking back from it, it probably shouldn’t have come as a surprise. 

Still on the lookout for guards, the trio crept quietly across the roof to where the skylights provided a clear view to the interior of the building. They knelt down beside one, peering inside. 

“What…Is that?” Leo breathed, his eyes wide as he took in the scene below. 

“I _knew_ they were up to something big!” April said, quietly thumping her fist against the glass. 

The center of the warehouse directly below the row of skylights was open, with a network of metal catwalks lining the walls. A large number of people swarmed over the catwalks, all sporting the same gas masks as their leaders. 

April hadn’t realized just how many people the Foot Clan had working for them; surprising though that fact was, though, it was hardly the most astonishing thing about the warehouse below. 

No, that honor belonged to the massive machine dominating the center of the warehouse. It towered above the hustle and bustle of the warehouse floor, standing so tall that, if they so desired, April and the others could reach out and touch it. 

The majority of the machine’s body was made up of metal, painted such a dark purple that it almost appeared black. A glass panel curved outwards from it’s chest, enclosing what appeared to be a command console of sorts, with an array of buttons and levers facing a worn, but comfortable-looking, leather seat. 

It stood on two massive legs, bent backwards at the knee, not unlike a bird. It appeared to be unfinished, at the moment, though that did not serve to make it any less terrifying to behold. As it was, it was missing an arm, parts of both of it’s legs, and several whole sections of paneling, revealing a mess of tubes and wiring. It may have been easy enough to write off as simply a large transport vehicle, or maybe even as a rich adventurer’s newest toy, were it not for the guns. 

Luckily for them, neither April nor the two turtles with her had ever had an occasion in which they needed to be in close contact with guns of any sort. Even without that, the weapons mounted on the machine were unmistakable. There was one on the finished arm, and another up top, on the machine’s right shoulder. Even one would have been enough to cause untold damage. 

“This can’t be good,” April finally broke the silence, her voice full of horrified awe. 

I am afraid, my dear reader, that I must draw your attention away from the scene at hand, so that I may give you some final advice before this chapter ends. There are several things that our heroes are doing here that you should absolutely never do. One of those is to climb about on fire escapes when you aren’t escaping a fire, or another similarly life-threatening situation that requires a swift exit. 

Similarly, you should _definitely_ not climb the aforementioned fire escape up to the top of a building where a group of dangerous criminals are building a machine that, while mysterious in origin, will most certainly be used for nefarious purposes. However, if you find yourself unable to avoid doing one or both of these things (though seldom, it does indeed happen,) you should never, _ever_ let your guard down. 

As our heroes are about to find out, doing so gives the large, shadowy figure that had been concealed behind the building’s stairwell the perfect opportunity to creep forwards, unseen. If not careful, one could even become so enraptured with the scene below, that they don’t hear any approaching footsteps until it is much too late.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't promise a consistent updating schedule for this, but I'll be doing my best! Hope you enjoyed


End file.
